


Mercy

by Sorayeth



Category: Vikings (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 14:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19814275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorayeth/pseuds/Sorayeth
Summary: Ivar and Heahmund in the last moments





	Mercy

At last, the dead were silent. After the groans of the dying, the screaming, the suffering, the quiet was only broken by the strange crackle of bones crumbling to ash. Heahmund stared at the massive glow of the pyres, fueled by the heaps of heathen corpses that had been set alight. The corpses were too many to bury. Perhaps it was fitting. He knew that pagans burned their dead. Heahmund wearily palmed the crucifix at his neck and breathed a prayer to God. The cold, familiar metal gave him no comfort. The prayer seemed almost blasphemous when he stared at the burning fields, and his nostrils were curled with the stench of charring flesh. They had been burning for hours now. There had been so many that the ashes now covered the ground like a fine, gray snow.  
Heahmund grimaced in distaste, rose, and turned away.  
His troubled thoughts drifted back to the unknown fate of Ivar. The Viking had not been seen since the Saxons declared their victory. Ivar had not been found among the broken remnant of scowling pagans, and Ivar’s corpse was not seen burning with the rest of the fallen. Heahmund was not sure if he should thank the Almighty or beg for His mercy, and he wondered if the devil himself had finally crawled out of hell to collect Ivar’s soul. What else besides death, or damnation could explain the disappearance? It seemed as if Ivar had been spirited away from the earth itself.  
Heahmund heaved a sigh. It didn’t matter. He would have Ivar’s ghost to contend with until the end of his days.  
Heahmund turned from the war-soiled field to face the forest. The trees seemed to hold their reverent hush as Heahmund glared at the grove, now gloaming even more with the failing light. The thick darkness of the forest rose, cradling the bald expanse, giving it the air of an island surrounded by a strange ocean. The trees could easily conceal the few who lived to flee. And Heahmund shivered inwardly, feeling as if he were peering into the darkness of the grave. The fatigue must have been preying upon his nerves.   
Cursing, he strode forward, choosing the futile action of search over uselessly standing in the field. Even the creatures of the forest seemed to have fled the carnage. There was no birdsong, no squirrels flickered in the branches, nothing. He looked down at the forest floor. The dark soil had been disturbed by the footsteps of the fleeing, at the edge of the field, but he had walked far enough away to see something odd. He knelt to the dirt, studying the strange, long lines of scrape marks, looking as if something large had been dragged through the soil. He could barely see the thinnest trace of a trail, a trail that threaded around a massive oak, and then veered off into a bit of a clearing. Here, the trees thinned out to more even terrain, making the trail easier to follow. Heahmund’s hand was on his sword hilt, instincts throbbing in warning. There had been no beasts large enough to make such a trail. He squinted in the growing dark, seeing that the trail had coiled over a small bluff, no more than a few feet high, and then, it stopped.  
Curiously, Heahmund circled around the little ridge, seeing that it had formed a bit of a sheltering roof made of exposed tree roots. It was easy to miss in the weak sunlight that managed to penetrate the canopy of branches. Now, when the light was failing, the small cleft under the bluff was nearly invisible.   
Heahmund squinted, ran fingers through his dark, sweated hair, and scowled when he thought he heard a voice of some sort, a strange sliver of breath that seemed to rise from the earth itself. Warily, he cocked his head, hand straying towards his sword hilt, tightening when he heard the sound again.  
Human. The groan was human.

Stepping closer, Heahmund drew his sword, and bellowed, “Who is there? Show yourself!”  
There was no answer, and Heahmund silently cursed himself for his stupidity in revealing his presence to a potential enemy. There was only silence. Heahmund lowered his sword and shouted, again, “Show yourself!”  
He peered into the hallow, his sword flickering as he hacked away some of the overhanging branches, ready to thrust his blade into whatever was concealing itself.  
He heard a scrape of something shifting against the soil, some pebble skittering, and then, a sliver of icy laughter.  
It was Ivar’s voice. Ivar’s voice, with that cruel, childlike, gleeful giggle, that splintered through his very soul and made him shiver from something besides the cold. He heard the trickle of laughter, Ivar’s laughter, coming out of the hollow, rising from the depths of hell, again.

Heahmund edged closer, feeling as if he were entering the lair of a dangerous beast.  
“Ivar?”  
There was no answer but another icy laugh.   
Heahumund warily approached, halting when he saw the tips of Ivar’s boots, oddly sprawled out from the shadows of the hillside. He raised his eyes to follow the twisted legs, the familiar black leather, and then, the rest of Ivar. The Viking’s face was obscured by the darkness, and all Heahmund could make out was the dull gleam of Ivar’s armor. He was still.  
“Ivar?”  
Heahmund cautiously lurched forward, squinting to see Ivar’s face in the nearly black hole. The shadows had twisted his features, clung to the corners of his mouth, made his closed eyes looked abysmal as a skull’s empty socket. “Ivar! Wake!” Heahmund whispered harshly, uncertainly. He did not know if he was staring into the face of a dying man, or a corpse. What else besides death could render Ivar so still, and so silent?   
Timidly, Heahmund reached out, and brushed his shaking fingers against Ivar's throat, and recoiled when he felt the sweating, icy flesh. Ivar exhaled a sharp grunt, met Heahmund’s stare with a shudder of terror, his eyes huge, and his mouth contorted into a scream. For one moment, Heahmund felt as if he were looking into the eyes of a tortured child.  
But then, Ivar’s eyes narrowed, as fear gave way to rage. Heahmund did not even have time to breathe as Ivar’s hand flew between them with the speed of a viper’s strike. Ivar snarled at him like a rabid animal, spat some vile threat in his native tongue, and grabbed Heamund’s throat. He bared his teeth as he dragged the choking Heahmund forward, until they were only inches apart. 

Ivar sneered at him, actually hissed, as he rocked back on his haunches with a serpentine grace that made Heahmund's blood run cold. His fingers tightened, crushing Heahmund’s windpipe, and Heahmund thrashed against the grip like an impaled fish.  
Helpless.   
Heahmund was absolutely helpless as Ivar merely smiled and continued to strangle him to death.   
Oh, Eternal Father, have mercy upon me. Do not let my enemy slay me…..  
And the Almighty graciously answered his prayers. Heahmund slid his heels into the soil, scrambling and finding a foothold. He managed to heave himself upward, and he flung his entire weight backwards, breaking Ivar’s grip on his throat. Ivar looked at his empty hand, to Heahmund, with a growl. Ivar paused, his lips curling into a cruel smirk, eyes narrowing.  
Heahmund scuttled backwards, bewildered at Ivar’s animalistic crawl, the inhuman speed, the death that seemed to have slithered right out of hell to claim his soul

Heahmund’s instincts, honed by the long years of waging war, struck back at the threat of Ivar. Heahmund’s arm flew between them, and he clubbed Ivar in the temple with the flat of his sword.  
That strike would be the one sin that Heahmund would never forgive himself for committing.  
Ivar could not stop the sliver of the whimper as he raised one shaking hand to palm his bruised temple. Ivar raised his unholy azure eyes to meet Heahmund's bewildered gaze. He made no move to defend himself, and the only sound was his lurching breath as he shifted to face Heahmund. Heahmund opened and shut his mouth, the words leaving him as he realized that Ivar was...afraid. He was numb when he saw that the cornered demon he had expected had fled.  
“Ivar?”  
Heahmund tried and failed to keep his tone gentle, as he dropped to his knees and spread his hands to show that they were empty. He felt as if he were trying to soothe a frightened horse.Ivar stared at the weaponless hands, then Heahmund’s face. He drew a shaking breath, forced a bright, false smirk as he waved a hand.  
"Your grace. How kind of you to visit. Now, you may leave."  
His voice was thick with agony, but his eyes were dangerously narrowed, and Heahmund could see him nearly slithering into another attack.“No.” Heahmund snapped, curtly. “I am not going anywhere. And I am certainly not leaving you here.” Ivar tensed, and Heahmund could see him calculating the odds. Ivar managed a coy smirk, as he languidly waved a hand between them.   
"Perhaps it is just as well. You can enjoy watching a heathen being punished for his sins."

Heahmund scowled at him. “It is hardly just punishment when you crawl away from battle, and live."  
Ivar’s smirk only widened, as he shook his head, and sneered,"Then you can enjoy watching me die."  
And then, he started to laugh. It was an ugly sound, burbling up from his wounded throat like a perverse fountain, and Ivar cackled so hard that he was shaking. The laughter ended with a gurgle, as Ivar suddenly clutched his stomach, and retched. Heahmund saw the scarlet trickle around Ivar’s lip as he raised a hand to brush away the filth from his mouth. Ivar stared at the blood, turned his hand over, and grimaced in distaste.  
“You are wounded." Heahmund whispered, as the realization washed over him in one dark wave.  
”Where?" Heahmund demanded, sharply  
Ivar swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat working, as he opened his mouth and shut it again with another shake of his head. Finally, he glared at Heahmund.  
“Here.” He breathed out, as he pressed both palms against his armor, buried them deep in the dark leather, and then, lifted them to show that his fingers were soaked in blood.   
“What happened?!” Heahmund asked, as he instinctively reached towards Ivar. Ivar recoiled with a wince.  
Heahmund stopped. “I will not harm you. Surely, you know that by now.” He did not attempt to hide the insult in his voice.  
Ivar shook his head, bitterly. “I do not think you could wound me much worse than I already am. But, I would be grateful if you did not try.” Heahmund gave Ivar another worried scowl.   
Ivar cackled softly, a harsh, mirthless laugh, that never reached his cold eyes.He lay his head back, fingers uneasily curling against his chest. Heahmund could hear his breathing, hard, erratic, and pained.  
Ivar finally spoke, softly as if he were confessing a sin.   
“It was an arrow. An archer managed to shoot an arrow through my side. In anger, I pulled it out, but only the shaft came free.” Ivar weakly waved his hand, gesturing towards the thin, bloodied shaft at his feet. Heamhund’s lips pressed together, and his eyes widened when he saw that the shaft was missing its cruel point.  
Ivar palmed his stomach, leaving his hands to rest over his injury.“The point did not come out with the rest of the arrow. I can feel it now, as we speak. It is deep inside, and it feels like a hungry animal, trying to feed. I could not pull it out.”  
Ivar shrugged, and gave Heahmund another bitter smirk.  
“Why did you try to pull the arrow out?!” Heahmund shouted, angered at his own helplessness. “Why did you not wait for help?”  
The ice returned to Ivar’s eyes, as he leveled a glare at Heahmund.“And who would come to help me, hmmm? You can see for yourself how helpful the Saxons have been.”   
Heahmund exhaled. “Why did you crawl here like a serpent? ”  
Ivar’s shoulders twitched into a shrug, and he winced from the movement. “Forgive me, your grace. I have been preoccupied”. Heahmund squinted at Ivar, considering the pained curve around his mouth.  
Heahmund felt the next words as sharp as a whiplash, when Ivar’s smirk twisted into a scowl, and his raised those burning azure eyes to Heahmund.  
“Kill me.” Ivar choked out. "Kill me so I will not fall into Saxton hands. Kill me so I will finally be free of this broken body.  
Heahmund recoiled, so stricken that he could not speak. During that silence, Ivar had lowered his gaze to his wound, palming the bloodied flesh, waiting for Heahmund’s answer.  
“Why do you ask this of me, Ivar?” Heahmund asked, quietly, letting the words settle between them. “Because I trust you.” Ivar whispered. His eyes slid longingly towards Heahmund’s sword, and he raised one finger to caress the cold silver. His mouth curled into a bitter smile. “And I trust your skill, as well.”

“How can you ask this of me? How can you ask that I murder you?” Heahmund whispered in disbelief.  
“It is not murder, your grace.” Ivar spat. “It is mercy. A concept that you Christians are supposed to practice. Now, practice mercy, and kill me.”  
Heahmund’s face twisted, and he shook his head.“No.” He breathed out the word, eyes narrowed and dark. “I will not do this. Do not ask me this, Ivar. Do not!"  
Ivar cringed as he shifted what little he could to glare up at Heahmund. There was only silence, interrupted by the ugly sound of Ivar’s ragged heaving, occasionally laced with a grunt of pain. Ivar curled a lip, and sighed, knowing and dreading Heahmund’s moral outrage at the request. “Do you want me to beg?” Ivar snarled out. “Is that what you want to hear? Very well, your grace, I will say it! Please!”  
Heahmund flinched at the demand that was hurled at him with the force of a whiplash. He swallowed back bile, as he looked down at Ivar, who was struggling and failing to drag himself upright.He saw the white, withered lines etched on Ivar's forehead and around his mouth, as he shut his eyes.  
“I am begging you.” Ivar choked, then, his voice breaking. “End this! Please!” Heahmund felt Ivar’s cold fingers on his arm, cloying, and trembling......  
Heamund caught Ivar’s hand between his own, ignoring the blood, and the cold, sweaty flesh against his palms, as he gently forced Ivar’s hand away from his wound.  
Ivar’s face contorted with rage, as he hissed out a snarl, and lurched upward, attempting to buck off his grip. The snarl ended with a hiss, and then, a strangled whine of pain that Ivar couldn’t choke back. Heamund put a palm to Ivar’s icy forehead. He gentled his fingers through the damp, dark braids, and Ivar withered against him, slumping forward to rest his head against Heahmund's shoulder. It was not a gesture of friendship, or farewell. Ivar was too weak from blood loss and injury to hold himself upright any longer.  
“Let me help you.” Heamund whispered.  
Gently, he eased his arms over Ivar’s torso. Ivar winced, and hissed, “What are you doing?”  
Heamund sighed, and paused with a bitter, sad smirk.  
“Removing your armor. It will be quicker without me having to stab through metal and leather.”  
Ivar shook his head, and growled.  
“Leave it.”  
Heamund swallowed hard, sent a prayer to the empty heavens, begged for an absolution that might never come, as he unsheathed his sword. The silver glint, the familiar leather against his fingers, none of it lent comfort, as he steadied himself, and tried to shore up enough resolve to kill.  
Ivar gave him an almost gentle smile, as he calmly lay back, his palms resting, his body relaxed and waiting.  
Heahmund raised the sword, lay the point against Ivar's chest, his quivering fingers gripping the pummel, as Ivar gave him an encouraging nod, and mockingly pat his abdomen in silent invitation.  
Heahmund said one last prayer, and stabbed downward, throwing his weight into the thrust, making the kill as quick and merciful as possible.   
The killing blow was supposed to be quick, final, finished, and Ivar was supposed to die silently, only lingering for a few seconds.....  
Heahmund recoiled in horror when he heard the sudden, bone deep quivering, the gurgle of breath and blood, and bile as Ivar’s body shuddered in instinctive revulsion against the fatal wound.His eyes were huge, and spilling over, and he looked like a bewildered child.  
“Ivar.” Heamund gently whispered, as he silently prayed.  
Ivar keened, the high whine of pain and fear, like a trapped animal, as his hands groped against his chest, and he looked up at Heamund in terror.  
He felt Ivar’s hands clutching against his, like a drowning man seeking salvation as he raised his sword again, plunged it through Ivar’s chest, not stopping until it was hilt deep in Ivar’s torso.  
Ivar writhed, and then slowly wilted against Heamund, his body slumping, his pulse thudding once more, and his last breath gurgled out between his bloodied teeth. In his last moment, Ivar wrenched his gaze from the sword in his gut to Heamund’s , and his twisted mouth softened.  
A shaking hand rose, and weakly pat Heahund's arm, and the mocking smirk curled over his lips for the last time.  
“Thank you…..your grace. May your God….bless you.” Ivar breathed out.

Heamund held him, felt the life leave him, felt the last breath, the dull emptiness after the heart stopped. Ivar’s head had nearly rolled back before Heamund could keep him from toppling. And when Heamund saw Ivar’s eyes roll up, to rigidly stare at something far beyond his reach, he knew that Ivar was dead.  
Disbelieving, Heamund eased the body onto its back. The head rolled towards him, and Heamund was startled to see Ivar’s open eyes, huge and empty, still gleaming with tears. Grimacing, Heamund dribbled water onto one of the leftover wrappings, and then wiped away the muck and the tears from Ivar’s face. He slid Ivar’s eyes closed, lay him back, carefully eased the armor back in place, grateful that it concealed the fatal wounds, grateful that it left Ivar’s face unmarred.


End file.
